Sober
by Tofu-Monstrosity
Summary: Gibbs works on his boat almost everynight. And every so often he gets visitors. If there's one thing he's learned over these past years, they will tell you anything when they're drunk. Rated for drinking and other sensitive subjects. Rating may go up.
1. Introduction

**Gibbs works on his boat about everynight. And every so often he gets visitors. Sometimes drinking makes all the pain go away. **

**I'm not trying to promote alcholism in any way. ****Rated for mentions of abuse, bullying, tradedy and of course drinking. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything mentioned in the story at all.**

**Sober**

Working on a boat at night makes time go by so much faster. The bourbon however, makes time slow down. But both in a certain amount and time will stop and all the pain goes away. I like that. Sometimes you need a break from the world, a small escape from reality and let time envelope you in a manor of speaking.

So that must be why people drink. It solves so many problems and arises so many new ones. And here it's easy to get lost in the whirling thoughts in your mind like the swirling of the amber drink in the cup.

Thank God I'm still sober.


	2. Father and Son

**--------**

I stop sawing for a moment to take another swig of the amber liquid. I stop as I hear footsteps above me. Everyone, whether they know it or not, has distinct strides, postures, smells etc. I knew these footsteps right away with the confident stepping as he made his way down the stairs.

"Hey Boss" Tony DiNozzo's voice rang out in my basement.

"Hello DiNozzo." I reply sharply. Tony walks down the wooden stairs and hits the cement of the floor. "What are you doing here so late at night?" I ask, already knowing the answer, I continued to sand my boat.

"Well I…uhm…you see I…Well," Tony stutters. I roll my eyes, turning and facing my senior field agent. The agent I have the most trust in.

"Spit it out DiNozzo!" I snap.

"Well, I was thinking. Uh…my dad, you know…" Tony shrugs, now I know what he was getting into. Of course I've read all of my agent's files, as well as Abby's and Ducky's and even Vance's. I know almost everything. Almost.

"What about him?" I ask, trying not to be so obvious I'm interrogating him.

"Well, there were things I didn't tell you about him." Tony states. I know this was coming.

"Really?" I played dumb, I know Tony caught on to this.

"Yeah, Gibbs, he's not a good guy…" Tony trails off.

"How so DiNozzo?" I ask, playing dumb and eager to hear what he has to say.

"He's not a good man boss" Tony reiterates. I nod my head. Tony looks away, he finds my workbench and hops up and sits on it. He looks at me. I look at him. I notice he's uneasy at my stare so I go back to sanding and swigging my bourbon. This helped Tony open up. "He was never there for me. He wouldn't be what I'd consider a father at all." I nod, letting him know I'm listening.

"Bourbon" I offer although it sounds more like a command. Tony takes the emptied out glass container for nails that is now filled with the amber drink.

"Thanks boss." Tony took a strong swig of it. "Seeing him again. It just brought back horrible memories." I nod, sawing off a piece of wood that was too long. "He wasn't very good at being a father. Everything else, yeah, he was good at, but that, no" Tony finished his bourbon and went back for more.

"How so?" I ask, looking at him after he fills his glass with the drink. He stops and looks at me.

"You know Gibbs, you'd make a good father." Tony was drunk. I could smell it from here. The bourbon got to him though I am fairly certain that he had a few beers before coming over here. "That's the sad thing. You were denied that chance but my dad had it granted to him. Makes me sick that's what it does"

I had a dream the other night. It was extremely strange. For one I was married to Jen and DiNozzo, Ziva, McGee and Abby all lived with us, but they were younger, a lot younger. Duck was there as well. My memory is spotty about it but I do know there was something about Chinese take out involved. I shove the thought out of my head as Tony continues rambling.

"He would be gone for days without telling me. I'd be alone for hours at least. I took the bus to school so that was no big deal. But I hated it when he got home. He was usually angry. He was a heavy gambler. For as rich as the bastard was he was good at loosing money too. And he drank. Like I know how you and I and Ziva and McGee and Abby and Ducky drink when we're out and stuff but this guy could drink." Tony was starting to slur his words the glass in his hand was in rapid motion as Tony swung his arms for emphasis on his words. "He would get drunk and come home and yell at me. I didn't do anything!" Tony defended, though a look of doubt crossed his face for a moment.

We dealt with a case like this once. A marine was found dead and there was a witness, the 12-year-old daughter. She admitted to killing him after she showed us her scars of where he beat her on a daily basis. Tony took that case relatively hard if I remember.

"I remember so clearly how he would take his belt and whip me. I wish that it would go away, like a wound. The scar is still there but the pain and remembering what it looked like is gone. Like all of that was wiped from my memory. Nope, I'm cursed with the memory" Tony shrugs, and laughs. It was odd, but the bourbon was getting to him. He pours even more bourbon into the half-full glass. "You ever feel that way Gibbs?" He asked, his eyes are slowly examining my boat as if he's never seen one before.

"Everyday I feel like that DiNozzo" I state dryly to him. He looks at me with his alcohol-cloudy eyes.

"Right, sorry boss" He hangs his head. "But you wouldn't have hurt Shannon or Kelly would you?" Those names sting like a wasp bite. Tony doesn't give me time to respond. "See what I mean? You wouldn't touch a hair on their heads. That's what's confusing to me." Tony swigs down the final gulp of his glass and reaches for more but I take the now almost empty container of bourbon from him.

"And my dad was a womanizer. When he was drunk he'd ramble on about how this new girl he met was so gorgeous and everything he'd ever dreamed of in a girl. Then he would dump her and move on to the next leading lady"

"Sounds like you DiNozzo" I mutter under my breath trying to hide a small smile.

"What was that Boss?" DiNozzo gets up off of the workbench and stumbles over to my boat and leans against it he stumbles as the boat was in a different spot he thought it was in.

"Nothing DiNozzo" I state, stifling a laugh at the agents antics and then look back at my wooden beauty.

"Why can't we be like this thing?" Tony knocks on the wood skeleton of the boat. "You know, hard and sturdy and sure and honest." Tony pats the wood. "And have beautiful grain and smooth texture" Tony then rubs his face against the sanded frame of the boat smiling like a dumb ass.

"You know you're making absolutely no sense right now?" I ask, bemused at his antics.

"Oh yeah, but hey, at least there's no stupid party games" Tony shrugs and gains his balance after stumbling a bit.

"You think you should go to bed? We do have to work tomorrow and you'll be fighting one hell of a hang over." I reasoned.

"Yeah, but it's worth it. I mean look, we're hanging out like men and this is the only way I could tell you what was going on." Tony states. I couldn't tell him that he didn't have to tell me and that I already knew, but something about the gesture of him telling me made me feel like I was playing my role as a father again. A role I had that was short-lived and how much I long for it back still makes my heart ache.

"Let's go upstairs. I probably still have one or two of your shirts." I lead the drunken man upstairs. I turn off the light of basement, planning to go to bed myself. The skeleton of the boat will be waiting for me when I return.


	3. Advantage

**Forgot to mention, chapter one had Tags to "Flesh and Blood" This one has Tags to "Truth and Consequences" Please Review!**

I'm sweating. I like it though, builds character and saves money on air conditioning if I never use it. I don't hear the footsteps, which tunes me in to who might be at my stairs next. She's silent as a cat and she knows it. I continue with my sanding of the boat.

She clears her throat. I turn around to see her. The tall athletic Israeli woman stands before me. Her back is straight. She looks me dead in the eyes. This girl will not show it if she's scared. But she doesn't know that the look in her eyes tunes me into what she's feeling.

"Nice seeing you here Agent David" I state, wiping my hands with a nearby rag.

"Yes, well this is your house" Ziva states coldly. Her humor is not lost on me and I smile a bit.

"I guess it is." Ziva is stone still, watching me as I pour some bourbon into another emptied out screw holder. I offer it to her by holding it out. She declines. "Take it Ziva." I order and she does, "So, what is it you want to talk to me about?" I edge, sitting on my workbench.

"What makes you think I came to talk?" Ziva asks, sometimes she's like looking in a mirror of myself, one with more feminine features.

"Well, you sure as hell didn't come here to watch me sand my boat again." I state sipping the last of my bourbon from my cup.

"I didn't. Gibbs, I need to talk to you."

"What's on your mind?" I ask, crossing my arms and looking at her as sternly as she stares at me.

"It is about my…capture…" She states bluntly and expects me to say something. But I pour more of my signature bourbon in her empty storage cup. She takes it between her lithe but deadly hands and her coffee brown eyes lock on to me in an unbroken gaze. I set my sander down.

"What about it?" I ask, keeping my voice flat.

"I did not deserve to be rescued." I look at her questioningly.

"What do you mean? You're part of my team Ziva. You work with NCIS. You're worth saving from God-knows-where!" I slam my empty bourbon cup down and Ziva goes to fill hers.

"It's not that simple" Ziva avoided eye contact with me. Instead, taking a strong swig of her bourbon and pouring herself another glass.

"What could it possibly be that you're not telling me?" I growl, something I could do with Ziva without restraint. She had to be one of the emotionally strongest people I know.

"In Somalia…" Ziva started but couldn't bring herself to finish. This isn't the Ziva I know. I take her firmly by the shoulders, in doing so she lulls her head to one side in a slow response. I can tell she's drunk.

"What. Happened." I command.

"People are like birds Gibbs, they are so fragile, but in the right light they can soar high above the sky…" Ziva rambles. I can tell she's drunk as she finishes her last drink of the night.

"What are you saying Ziva? What happened in Somalia?" I ask, shaking her a bit.

"I was taken advantage of Gibbs! They raped me!" She spits out and screams. "It was my fault! I let them! I let them tie my hands and use me!" I stand there dumbstruck. She starts crying. There are very few times where I've seen Ziva cry. It's probably because she is wasted but the pain is genuine. I take her chin in my hands, trying to comfort her.

"You were drugged most of the time. How do you even know?" I ask, in my mind I hope it's just the alcohol talking, but the look on her face says otherwise.

"I could feel it Gibbs!" She yells at me. I let her cry into my shoulder as she whispers words in Hebrew that even if I knew the language I wouldn't be able to understand. She gains her composure quickly as she stands up as straight as she can with the alcohol inhibiting her motor functions. "I must look like some crazy baboon!" Ziva exclaims.

"You don't." I all I say back to her, ignoring her slipup with the saying. That was all that needed to be said. She is quiet for a few moments and we both felt uneasy in the still air. "Did you take a…. or…are you…?" I start to ask, not wanting to say it out loud. Ziva shakes her head.

"No. I took 4 tests and drank 3 cups of coffee. I am not pregnant," She states. A wave of relief washes over me. But the scars still sting her.

"I can set you up with a psych evaluation…" I offer even though I know it will be declined.

"I don't need one of those silly tests. I am fine I just needed to tell you." She shrugs her shoulders stumbling a bit and bracing herself with my unfinished boat. "Nice chunk of wood…" Ziva smiles in an inebriated way. "You should make boats for a living."

"Na," I state the opposite. "They take too long and the pay isn't too good." I respond. She looks at me with that unbroken stare. "And the solitude can really get to ya sometimes" She nods. "Let's go upstairs, I think I still have some tea from last time you were over and I'll make the couch." I lead her gently up the wooden stairs and turn the light off to the basement. The bourbon and the boat will be awaiting their next visitor.


	4. Patterns

**Thanks for the reviews and favorites. They make me so happy! Keep it up you all. After this I'm going to do about two more. Can anybody guess who they might be. It's kind of obvious. Though I might throw in a curve ball or two just to keep you on your toes...**

I'm finishing the outer shell of the boat, sanding down the wood to a smooth durable resilient coat. This sets up for the painting. I hate painting I'm not artistic. I hear the hesitant footsteps above me. That can only be one person.

"Boss?" He asks before even walking down the stairs.

"Yes McGee, come on down" I state, smiling to myself. I set my hand rag down.

"Sorry to bug you boss." He states nervously as he walks down the stairs.

"You're not bugging me and what did I tell you about saying sorry?" I look at him. The probie looks at his feet nervously.

"Yeah, I need to talk to you." Tim states.

"I assume that's why you're down here" I respond. I gesture to my newly empty workbench. He takes a seat. "What do I owe this pleasure to, McGee?" Tim just fidgets.

"Love boss" He says meekly. I hand him a glass of bourbon.

"Down a few of these and then we can talk about that" I instruct, Tim, being the impressionable young man that he is, follows my orders, gulping down the bourbon and giving a weird face in response.

"How can you drink that boss?" Tim asks me, a disgusted look on his face.

"You'll get used to it" I pass him another glass. Tim takes it, staring into the amber liquid before swigging it down fast. He gagged a bit.

"I don't think I will boss" Tim chokes out. I laugh a bit. It's just like Tim to not like something like that. I refill his glass, which was another empty container I used for nails. Tim looks at it suspiciously and then at me.

"Trust me, you'll thank me in the near future" I state bluntly. Tim takes the glass and gulps it down, making another weird face in response. I stop myself from laughing again as Tim sets the glass down.

"Please…no…more…" Tim hiccups, apparently the man takes to alcohol like a fish to water. So maybe that's why I never get to see him drink.

"So, what were you saying earlier?" I ask, sitting on the floor and leaning against the boat.

"Wha was it?" Tim slurs. "Love. I need help boss-man"

"About love? Tim, I don't think I'd be the one to assist you on that. You might want to talk to…." I stop as I run the list of names in my head; Tony's out of the question, having so many different girlfriends isn't good for Tim. Ziva would be more trustworthy, but her taste in men tends to go toward the "Will be dead soon" kind. Then there's Abby's dating advice, it would be something kinky and involving a restraining order. No. So there's Ducky, but the man would probably ramble on about his past. So I guess I'm the only logical choice, the man with three ex-wives.

"You're the one." Tim states, "I need to…to…talk to you" Tim blinks slowly probably trying to un-blur his vision.

"Ok McGee. Tell me." I cross my arms, looking at the young field agent.

"Well, I've been thinking about this for awhile now…" Tim slurs. "Ever since Amanda tried to kill me…am I that stupid Gibbs?" He looks at me in drunken stupor. I shake my head no. I smelled something funny on her but my gut was so wrapped up in the case that all it did was twinge when she was around. "Do you even think she felt anything to-wards me?" He looks at me like he actually expects an answer. I can't tell him anything. My co-workers private lives are just that, unless they involve a case, which I have noticed often does. "Can I just give up boss? Like not ever having to worry about it?" Tim is defiantly drunk.

"There are ways, but I'm sure you'd not want to go down those roads Tim" I respond to his drunken answer. "You'll find someone." I reassure.

"Have you ever heard of the saying "Hidden in plain sight"?" He asks, here we go again with the damn physiology.

"Yes, I am familiar with it" I say that to humor him, I know exactly what it means; I want to know what he knows.

"I…think…what was I saying?…I think that's what it all is. A game of hidden in plain sight. Like those "I Spy" books" Tim states. I raise my eyebrow. I used to look at those to Kelly when she was young. "Or a Rubik's cube. I used to be really good at that. Just find the patterns, that's all life is, patterns." Tim continues I've never seen him ramble like this.

"So find the pattern," I state. Tim looks at me his brain, even when on alcohol, still works at a light speed level.

"I've tried. There is no pattern!" Tim looks exasperated. "Every girl I've dated is so different from the last one. Hell, does it even matter who I date anymore?! It could be you or Tony or Ziva or Abby or even Ducky!" Tim buries his face in his hands. I sit there for a few moments not knowing what to do. I'm pretty sure that the previous statement was the product of too much bourbon. It took me awhile to respond.

"Well, there's your answer Tim" I smile, standing up and watching as he looks at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You have no pattern. Sure, patterns apply to Rubik's cubes, computers, the stock market…but the human life is no pattern, it's all sporadic" I say something insightful without one drink, I must be doing pretty good.

"So then what? I find some random person and hope she's the random solution to my problem?" Tim asks, "This would be so much easier with numbers…" He mutters.

"Exactly. Tim, you don't go looking for something like that. Love is not a suspect, it's a victim, it has to be stumbled upon" I pat his shoulder after my intuitive metaphor. Tim looks at me with boyish wonder. "Let's go, it's late. And you left your MIT shirt here again" I roll my eyes and let the young field agent use my as a crutch to get up the shaky wooden stairs. I turn off the basement light. The shadowed figures sit silently awaiting the next visitor.


	5. Anniversary

**Ok, me going out on a limb on this one. I could've sworn that Abby's mother's name was Grace. I heard her use it before. Thank you all so much for the reviews!**

Saturday August 29th 2009, 1:23 am.

I sit alone working on my boat again. This time I'm expecting company. I always see her around 0130 in the morning. And soon enough I hear the thick boots clunk their way above me.

"Hey Abs" I don't even look up.

"Hi Gibbs. Brought ya something" Abby trots down the stairs and sets a brown bag with something heavy in it. I stop applying waterproofing and turn to her. I didn't expect her to bring a present.

"You didn't have to do that Abs," I say as I pull out the bottle of aged bourbon from the bag. She shrugs, not talking like normal. I open the bottle with a screwdriver and pour us both cups. As usual we sit on the floor, my back against my precious boat.

"4 years Gibbs" She says and gulps down the bourbon and immediately pouring herself another one. "4 years…" She repeats.

"I know" I respond. We do this every year, her and I. We've done it since that fateful day exactly four years ago today. When Hurricane Katrina hit, knocking out her childhood home.

"4 years and I've got nothing to show for it" Abby pours another drink after her second one vanished.

"That's not true and you know that" I respond, we have this conversation every year.

"I know you're going to say that "it's not my fault and that I can't stop Mother Nature" but Gibbs mah whole life was down there!" Abby defends. She pours herself another glass, quickly knocking back that one too. "And ya would know more than anyone what it's like to have your world turned upside-down." She looks at me with her bright green eyes, it was then I noticed her hair was down; it frames her pale face in an elegant manner. I've worked with Abby for years and she does subtle things that tell you exactly what's going on inside her head, and wearing her hair down was unusual. She gulps another drink down; the bottle is now half empty as I look at it.

"You're hiding something" I state, confident. She looks at me with fear.

"No Ah'm not!" She says, when Abby gets drunk her southern accent comes back, what she has worked so hard to keep hidden ever since she was made fun of in grade school. Like all of my agents, I know everything there is to know about them. Or so I'd like to think. But I find that not the case here. I can tell by the way she avoids eye contact that she's hiding something.

"What is it Abbs?" I ask, ebbing her on. She still avoids direct eye contact with me and fidgets under my stare.

"It's nothin' Gibbs," She slurs. I look at her as she stands up and makes her way to my now almost finished boat. She picks up the handsaw. I leap up and race over to take it from her before she hurts herself or the boat. I grab her arms and force her to look at me.

"Tell me Abby" I state, solid and firm. She breaks down into tears.

"My mom died in the hurricane Gibbs!" I was stunned and eased my grip a bit and she slid to the floor in a crying heap. I kneel on the floor to her and hold her. I didn't even have a clue that she died. Abby grabs my shirt and cries into it. I don't care if her makeup stains it. I just let her cry.

"I'm sorry Abby," I whisper as I hear her sobbing turn into sniffles.

"It's not your fault. She…she refused to leave, said that…that the hurricane was nothin' to worry 'bout and she was… safe." Abby looks at me willingly now, her eyes are red and puffy from crying but they still looked so innocent.

I met Grace once, years ago. When Abby was an intern. Her mother surprised her and visited her in DC for her 20th birthday. I can safely say their relationship was rocky since her father died a few years before when she was 16. Actually, this was the first time I have ever heard Abby refer to Grace as "Mother" it was never a term she used lightly. One had to earn the title, and in Abby's eyes, her mother couldn't live up to it.

I look down and find Abby asleep; she crashes pretty hard when she's drunk. I smile a bit, lifting her thin and fragile frame in my arms and carrying her upstairs. I'll just let her sleep for now. The couch is already made for her. I turn at the top of the stairs and look down at the basement; the scene of sorrow only moments ago was quiet. It has seen much in its time being here. If the basement could talk….well, let's hope it doesn't.


	6. Heartache

**As a heads up. This will not be my last chapter! nope! there will be two more. **

I walk down to the basement. Bourbon in hand I'm surprised to see that my boat has company.

"Hey Duck" I say, stepping down off the stairs and setting the new bottle of bourbon on the workbench. Dr. Mallard, my long time friend and college looks at me. His eyes are red. "What's the matter?"

"My mother passed away Jethro" He states grimly. I walk down to him.

"I'm sorry Donald" I state, placing an arm around the man.

"She was getting up there in years, yes, but I was hoping she would make it a little longer. Her birthday was coming up. And we know how much your team adored her" Ducky didn't make eye contact with me. I opened the bourbon and poured him a glass. He took it. "Thank you Jethro" He mutters and sips it a little.

"No problem Duck." I say.

"I just wanted to tell you, you should be the first to know. In these cases" Ducky shrugs. I smiles a bit.

"I wish it was like that with my team" I hand Ducky a paintbrush with waterproofing on it. I set the bottle of bourbon down next to us as we waterproof the wood. We're silent for a while. Ducky pours himself another glass of bourbon as he sips his first one away. They were both silent as they waterproofed the boat. Ducky wasn't telling any stories of his many adventures. He was silent. "Do you want to talk about it Duck?" Jethro asks after a period of silence.

"As long as you're not bugged by it. I did intrude didn't I?" The bourbons starting to go to Ducky's head.

"No. You know I don't lock my door for a reason Duck." I state, continuing waterproofing my boat.

"True. I suspect you've gotten used to the frequent home invasions" Ducky smiles a bit, I can't help but smile.

"Sometimes they bring bourbon" I shrug. Ducky stands up and pours another glass of the drink.

"A beautiful name for the boat you picked out Jethro" He says, I look at the black lettering on the starboard side of the bow. I nod.

"Yeah, I needed to start a new one ever since I gave Kelly to Franks" I state dryly. Remembering what part of my heart that name held.

"Maybe I should take up woodworking. I could build model planes." Ducky muses. "My mother always wanted for me to be a pilot. I don't know why, I've told her my plans to become a medical examiner many a time. But she insisted on my becoming a pilot." I don't say anything. I just let the good doctor continue with his ramblings. This is one of the few times I've heard him ramble on the present and not the past. "She finally got to think I was a pilot through the final months of her life." He picks up the brush again, but only turns it in his hands. "Yes. She was happy those final months." He looked and saw something unseen, as if he was looking straight through the concrete walls and on to another dimension. He smiles. "It was for the best I suppose. She was in pain an awful bit"

"I'll tell my team. We'll all attend the funeral" I try and console. Ducky shakes his head in disapproval.

"That won't be necessary, she's wanted a small funeral, and she'll be cremated." He says.

"We can be a small crowd" I try to push the subject, knowing how much my team liked Ducky's mother in all of her eccentric-ness.

"You don't have to do that Jethro. I am sure you are busy" Ducky holds his hand up as if telling me to say no more.

I do have an agenda I like to keep. By simply looking at me, you wouldn't be able to tell, but I'm emphatic. Abby, Ducky and the team have long picked up on this and usually try to not show what they're feeling around me. But it's an unspoken rule that I'll be in my basement, with my bourbon and boat sitting and waiting. That's a fact.

"I donated all of the money to charity" Ducky still looks at the paintbrush as it twirls in his hand. "I thought it would be for the best if I donated all of her will money to charity."

"That's awful nice of you Duck" I say, my voice soft as to not shock him out of whatever trance he is in. Weather it be from the bourbon or the grief.

"It was the least I could do." He says, still staring into the brush. I put my arm on his shoulder, a comforting embrace that breaks his trance. He looks at me; I smile as we share an understanding.

Life is often not fair. It too often takes away ones who we love, whether they were ready to go or not. But it also gives us such wonderful things, like all of the people we can meet and the places to go. New challenges rise to greet us and it is our job to meet them. And it is through these trials and tribulations that make us who we are.


	7. Rememberance

**Finally! internet cooperation!**

It's finally quiet in my house. The footsteps and voices above me have seized for the night. That means everyone's asleep.

It's kind of like a tradition here. On the anniversary of her death, we get together and share stories and talk to one another on a more personal note. It was hard at first, the emotions still raw. But as the saying goes time heals all wounds.

Remind me to kill whoever said that.

It's a lie. Time does not heal wounds. If anything they only scab over. I put the bottle of bourbon to my lips and let the sweet liquid trickle down my throat. I was there when she was shot. She died to save me. Me of all people. I wouldn't have done it if I were her. We're only as good as what our bulletproof vests don't cover.

"Would you please stop blaming yourself," That voice sounds so familiar. I look to the bottom of the stairs and there she stands, bracing herself against the post. "How many years has it been Gibbs?" She asks me.

"Four Kate." I say.

"Yeah, and you still blame yourself. Do us all a favor and don't" She rolls her eyes.

"Us?" I ask, swishing the bottle around before gulping down more of it.

"Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. Stop blaming yourself. It's pretty sad to watch" Kate responds. She is so beautiful even in the harsh basement light. I'm glad to see that the bullet hole in her forehead has healed. What am I saying? She's dead. She's been dead for years now. Stone cold dead. What is she doing here then? I drink more bourbon. Maybe she'll stay longer.

"Why are you here?" I ask, when I can form coherent sentences. Kate looks at me and strides over to the boat; finally finished she runs her fingers over it and stops at the name.

"Kate. Cute name for a boat" She smiles. "I personally like the Shannon the best. Although the Kelly was a good one. Are you going to make the Jen after you get this one out of here?" She looks at me.

"You didn't answer my question." I state, not looking at her because if I do she might go away.

"You didn't answer mine. If you must know, I'm here on orders." She says.

"Who's?" I ask, intrigued at something of an afterlife.

"That I can't disclose without a warrant. But I can tell you that you need to stop moping down here. It's depressing," She says to me, her arms crossing.

"It's what I do Kate" I shrug.

"Go upstairs and get some sleep." She says before smiling to herself at what seems to be an inside joke to her. "We're glad you do this Gibbs"

"Do what?" I chug more bourbon and hope she stays longer.

"Get together with your team. It's nice to see them all together outside of work." She looks to me. For the first time tonight I look into her eyes. It's as if I can see the wall behind her as I gaze into them, but at the same time her soul is behind them. "Keep what's important to you close. They," She points up to the ceiling. "Are your family now Gibbs. Weather you like it or not. They are the ones that you should name boats after" I am silent as I process this. Maybe she's right. Although I definitely don't want to be steering "The DiNozzo" anytime soon. Then something clicks in my brain which is hard to believe because it feels like it's swimming in alcohol.

"Wait, you said "we" before." I say, looking at her, I want to touch her but I can't bring myself to do it. What if she disappears?

"Yes, we. Jen, Shannon, Kelly, me, Michelle we're all there." Kate smiles, and then looks at her wrist at the invisible watch. "It's time for me to go. I only get to be down here a brief while." She looks at me with sadness.

"Can I just ask one more question?" I ask because I don't want to see her go. Not now, not ever, I want her back. She shouldn't have died.

"Sure, but I have a blackjack game soon with Special Agent Langer." She says, I can't help but laugh a little.

"Is it nice there?" I ask. I know I'm drunk and that was probably a stupid question.

"It is nice there. But you don't want to come." She asserts the last line as if she read the brief thought that entered my mind. "No, it's not your time yet." She says with a curl of her lips. "But I can tell you, it'll come sooner if you keep drinking like that" I smile a bit; she knows that won't change at all. "So go to bed Gibbs." She starts to disappear. "Even with all the knowledge I could want I still can't figure out how you get that damn boat out of your basement…" She slowly fades away as she mutters to herself.

So I am in the basement once again. My bourbon, my boat and I. But I am not alone, for upstairs I know is where I am needed. My life is up those stairs and life goes on. But it's nice for a few moments, just to sit down here, to drink and make time slow itself down.

I stumble up the stairs to the top where I turn off the light. I look into the darkness for a while. The boat and the bourbon will be here for me when I get back, they'll be here the next day too, and the next day and the next. But it's the people that are sleeping in my living room right now is what I need to treasure the most.

Although that would best be done sober.


End file.
